In the discussions with Livia Dimulescu, the reflexive question always appears: "I don't know if I am understand". This is her desire: to be understood. The present text is an outpouring from the need for deep perception; he appeared after the author sniffed and fermented his memories, and the images, one by one, turn into silent rituals of balancing the being.
The woman in her fifties is a battle with time that she perceived as a caries that gnaws at her life. We live together, says the author, in a permanent state of "counter-clockwise", always overcoming the feeling of not being too late. With each poetic text, he slowly discovers all his furrows, all his paths and all his wrinkles, through deep inner incisions, sometimes painful, but always lucid. The domestic environment creates a "shield" lacework, where the characters, the guardians of a family universe, have a silent dialogue, always sprinkled with angelic beings whispering to each other and who, each time, take care to put their destiny on the right path. . The reader, especially the female one, is included in this album atmosphere with sepia memories, but, paradoxically, instead of the impression of melancholic-depressive feeling, he discovers, through similarity, a renewable, strong and resistant human mold. And he sees how, over the unique combination of scars with new shoots, there are breaths of hard, pure essences, geranium or stone carnations: a royal antinelinist treatment.
(Ivone Marlen Scarlatescu, girlfriend, writer)
My mother has been my girlfriend since I knew myself. But we really became friends when we discovered the books. The words laid the foundation of our connection. I was reading and talking about life.
When I was a teenager, I read both of them as if I had grabbed God by the leg. The weekends caught us on top of the bed, with a Romanian in his hand. I lived in the world of canonical writers and melancholy and marginalized writers. We read enthusiastically, both accomplices to a small luxury that we allowed ourselves in the midst of poverty: to buy books from time to time and to have the peace to finish them. Discussions started from parallel worlds and descended into the intimacy of our experiences. At the intersection between them, we find out the nuances, the context, the injustices. I poured coffee into cups and cried. And I laughed. Then I wrote.
Today, my girlfriend is fifty-five years old and has not stopped reading or writing. I thank him for giving me such an introduction to life and for teaching me one of the most important exercises in the face of chaos: to build my balance in words.
(Venera Dimulescu, daughter, journalist at SCENA 9)
Beyond an unusual sense of reality that deepens, plunging into the surreal, the first impression left by Livia Dimulescu's most recent writing is the diversity of lyrical formulas. In her book, the author uses a wide range of expression, making texts of the best quality: poems, prose-poems, paintings and pseudo-evocations. Very visual, tangible, tactile, the texts have a subtle pictoriality.
The woman in her fifties is a writing of full maturity of Livia Dimulescu, of rounding the vision and of the freedom of expression. Various and well-known themes, such as love, life, loneliness, giving up, acceptance, family, youth, friendship are approached with assumption and a good sense of naturalness. The writer passes her feelings and reflections through the filter of a sad smile, marked by a sharp lucidity. In the world she created, a rich and sometimes dreamy universe, metaphors reign supreme. It is a mixture of lyricism and rough feeling, without the fantasy ever losing its compass, because the writing flows equally with itself, in clearings of ebb and flow, and the temptation of life events is intertwined with that of thought doubled by emotion, in a sometimes overwhelming sensitivity, of Bacovian origin.
The great Russian writers, and among the famous characters, Oblomov and Anna Karenina seem to be Livia Dimulescu's favorite models. The author fixes the isolation in her own body or paints the wanderings on "foreign shores", in the confusing settings of fear and guilt. Sometimes he spreads his wings with confidence in the dream lived to the fullest, other times he is charged with apathy and stagnation. The tone is, on the whole, elegiac: loneliness, neuroses, disappointments, falling into a dream and falling into oneself, making the created imaginary lie before the eyes of the reader with a great power of suggestion. The regenerating force of life, the trust in people and in the principle of good, but also bring light sequences that, even if nostalgically pregnant, are still recovering.
When the arabesques belong to the feeling, the phrase is arborescent, like a spider's web that clings to everything that comes around it; other times, the words settle in the shades of evocation, in sun tones or
Despite the title announcing a protagonist - an exponent of femininity, who, at the age of full wisdom inside the book, we do not only discover a world of women or a world composed mainly of women, as in the prose in the volume Gray in Balance or other prose of her, for here a complete world is foreshadowed, but hers, of the Woman. "The woman in her fifties has her own platform," says Livia Dimulescu. The central character is defined as that "axis mundi" around which the present, past or, through future reflection, that is, the tumult of existence, with its overflow, are ordered.
(Diana Trandafir, girlfriend, poet, USR member)
Livia Dimulescu writes about her angels, black and white, but she does not write in black and white, but very nuanced, because she goes deep.
The first angel, multicolored, is herself; an angel between all kinds of mirrors. Detached from her, he looks in all the mirrors at the same time, listens in all his breaths, spreads his thoughts and words and passes them in a relationship to her.
Coincidentally, we're there too. To go with her to the other world to see how her people are doing and to know essential things, such as the steam of polenta or the creaking of the cradle.
What interesting women! Grandmother Paraschiva, mother, postwoman, house woman, woman object hanger, woman-tree, woman earth, woman animal mule, woman station, woman platform, woman bridge, woman atlas, woman history book ...
Among the visible women, among the angels, demons and mirrors, behind and in front of them, men are touched or sensed. You have to find them with the multitude of women at different ages, converted into a single age: the poetic one.
(Luminita Dascalu, writer,
founding editor of the literary magazine Poem Caffe)